


an open mic enthusiast

by The_Eclectic_Bookworm



Series: nowhere else i'd rather be [3]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: BOOM! Buffy the Vampire Slayer Comics, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-14 22:02:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18485266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Eclectic_Bookworm/pseuds/The_Eclectic_Bookworm
Summary: Rupert Gileswas sitting at one of the tables, playing leisurely and expertly on his guitar, singing in a way that was possibly the most unbearably fucking sexy thing Jenny had ever seen.(comics reboot: Jenny’s got a crush.)





	an open mic enthusiast

**Author's Note:**

> will i keep writing fic after every single one-panel tidbit about reboot giles and jenny? probably. definitely. absolutely.
> 
> some oblique references to issue #3 (and probably falls within that rough timeline)

Six days out of the week, Jenny Calendar stayed responsibly indoors after dark. It wasn’t wise to tempt fate when it came to vampires, _especially_ not in a town like Sunnydale. Students and teachers alike dropped off the face of the earth at _least_ once a month, if not more, and she had _no_ intention of being one of them. As much as she loved being out at night, dancing and exploring and messing around with magic, none of those things were worth ending up as vampire chow.

One day out of the week, it was open mic night at the Espresso Pump.

This particular Wednesday, Jenny had tried on five different outfits and four different shades of lipstick, then vacillated between pinning her hair up and letting it fall in loose waves to graze her shoulders. Currently, her hair was half-up-half-down, her lipstick was half-purple-half-peach, and the butterflies in her chest were making it _impossible_ for her to accurately judge how good any of her fashion choices were.

“Fuck you, Rupert Giles,” she said to the mirror, and meant it wholeheartedly. No one had _ever_ gotten her this flustered with a single well-played chord.

* * *

 

The whole ordeal had started about three months ago, two days after Jenny had met Rupert Giles in a faculty meeting. She hadn’t thought much beyond “reasonably hot and sweetly polite,” and had correctly assumed that he was the kind of guy who wasn’t really into making friends on staff. As such, she hadn’t been thinking about him at _all_ when she’d noticed the _Open Mic_ flyer tacked to the noticeboard in the faculty room—only that apparently open mic night also meant a discount on coffee, and the Espresso Pump was only half a block away from Jenny’s apartment.

“Hmm,” said Jenny, cheered by the prospect of cheap coffee from one of her favorite places.

“Wouldn’t have pegged you for an open mic enthusiast,” observed Mr. Giles, who was making himself a cup of tea at the counter nearby. He looked up at her almost furtively. “Are you planning on going?”

“I like coffee,” said Jenny, shrugging. “And it’s near my house. Utilizing the open-mic-night coffee discount might be a nice way to kill a few hours before I go back to a night of Netflix and…” She trailed off. “Really just Netflix.”

“It’s certainly a lifestyle choice,” said Mr. Giles, giving her a crooked grin as he finished making his tea. “One I can wholeheartedly relate to. I spent the better half of last night binging period dramas and translating ancient texts.”

“Multitasking!” Jenny grinned back. “Can’t help but admire that in a guy.”

Mr. Giles blushed an adorable shade of pink and took a sip of his tea. “Lord, but that’s awful,” he said, pulling a face.

“I think the Espresso Pump has some _great_ iced tea,” said Jenny helpfully.

“That’s  _worse_ ,” said Mr. Giles, but he was still smiling a little as he headed out of the staff room. Jenny was smiling too, and didn’t entirely know why.

She  _was_ thinking a little about Mr. Giles for the rest of the day—casually, and between classes, when she had a few minutes to spare. They weren’t very serious thoughts, and she was pretty sure a lot of them had to do with the fact that living on a Hellmouth made it pretty much _impossible_ to get laid. Besides which, he wasn’t her type—she didn’t tend to go for sweetly gentle intellectuals who blushed like an English rose. By the time she’d gotten home, he had all but left her mind.

That day, she didn’t change her outfit before open mic night. She did reapply her lipstick, mostly on principle; there was still a possibility she might meet somebody in the time it took to drink her coffee. She put on a cross necklace as a precautionary measure and headed out of her apartment, feeling the sense of cheerful boredom that one did right before something big and wonderful knocked them sideways.

In this case, it was the fact that by the time Jenny had gotten her coffee, all the seats indoors were full. A little annoyed by the concept of actually having to attend open mic night, she stepped into the outdoor seating area. Though she couldn’t see who was singing, she _could_ make out a man’s low, melodic voice, accompanied by a softly strumming guitar. She recognized the song, or at least the melody, and was humming idly along as she moved forward to sit down—

—at which point someone moved out of the way, and Jenny saw that _Rupert Giles_ was sitting at one of the tables, playing leisurely and expertly on his guitar, singing in a way that was possibly the most unbearably fucking sexy thing Jenny had ever seen. Stunned, and unwilling to take her eyes off Rupert, she set her coffee down on the nearest empty table, then sat slowly down, watching him with rapt and breathless attention.

Halfway through the song, Rupert looked up and saw her. His fingers slipped on the strings, striking an off-key chord, but his voice didn’t falter—and his eyes didn’t leave Jenny’s.

* * *

 

This had been going on for a lot longer than it probably should have. Outside the open mic, Rupert and Jenny exchanged light pleasantries at most, holding brief, friendly conversations in the minutes before staff meetings started or lunch ended. But every Wednesday night, Jenny changed her outfit, applied a bolder shade of lipstick, and headed down to the Espresso Pump, where it was now very rare for Rupert to be playing anything but love songs.

They were in a holding pattern, Jenny knew, but she couldn’t bring herself to break it. What if it turned out Rupert wasn’t half as interested in her as his music and his blush made him seem? There was something unspeakably romantic about their connection when she could pretend it was reciprocated; she felt like bringing it into the real world ran the risk of revealing that Rupert just happened to get a little flirty while he was singing.

And now here she was, in the third month of acting like a lovestruck teenager. She didn’t know _what_ it was about Rupert, but being around him made her feel…warm. And happy. And a little nervous, but in a nice way.

Though the nice parts were somewhat counteracted by how fucking _difficult_ being nervous made picking out a good outfit. It was starting to get late, and Jenny was starting to worry that she might legitimately miss seeing Rupert play, but she had started dressing up and she couldn’t dress down _now._ It was the _principle_ of the thing—

As she was scanning her living room for the top she’d tossed over her shoulder, Jenny’s eyes landed on the clock, and— _fuck!_

Okay.  _Seriously_ no time to be picky. Tugging her hair down, Jenny wiped off the purple-peach lipstick hybrid, stepped into a pair of heeled boots, adjusted her top, and _sprinted_ out of the house, half-tumbling down the stairs and out the door and—

—colliding  _directly_ with Rupert, who neatly caught her in his arms before hitting his head rather hard against a lamppost.

They stared at each other, eyes wide. Then Rupert said, “This really is my day for head injuries, isn’t it?”

“What?” Jenny took a second look at Rupert, then saw his torn clothing and the bruising down the side of his face. “Oh my _god._ Are you okay? Was that me?”

“What on earth were you running to?” Rupert asked, sounding more curious than accusing.

“I didn’t want to miss seeing you play!” Jenny answered immediately, too preoccupied with her concern to realize what she’d indirectly told him. “Did a _building_ collapse on you?”

“You really do pick the most extraordinary days to miss seeing me play,” said Rupert. He looked amused, though that adorable, telling blush had returned at Jenny’s admission. “I’m sure you’ll be hearing about the giant vampire-killing bat from at least _one_ of your students tomorrow.”

“Giant—you know what, forget it,” said Jenny, waving a hand. “I really don’t want to know. The supernatural dealings in this town give me a headache. Listen, come up to my apartment and I’ll fix you up.”

A slow, shy smile spread across Rupert’s face. “I’d like that,” he said.

* * *

 

After Rupert had been sufficiently patched up, Jenny made tea. She didn’t really know how to make tea, but she had some extra tea leaves left from a ritual she’d been experimenting with, so she sort of just threw them all into a pot and filled it with water, hoping against hope that Rupert wasn’t watching.

 _“What_ are you doing?” said Rupert from behind her, sounding like he couldn’t decide whether to be affronted or start giggling.

“Tea?” said Jenny.

“ _No,_ ” said Rupert. “Have you—what— _no._ ”

“I kinda live off of store-bought coffee and takeout,” said Jenny. “I don’t really do the whole _cooking_ thing, especially not since they invented the Domino’s app.”

Rupert pinched the bridge of his nose. Now he just looked like he was _really_ trying not to start giggling. “And I’m supposed to trust that you administered adequate medical care?” he teased. “You don’t even have a _kettle.”_

“Pot, kettle,” said Jenny, and directed a winning smile at Rupert.

“That’s terrible,” said Rupert. “You are terrible. Sit down while I make you a _proper_ cup of tea.”

“ _Oh_ no!” Jenny objected. “At the very _least_ let me fix up your head. You look _awful!”_

“Thanks  _ever_ so,” said Rupert dryly.

“No, I don’t mean—you’re obviously still seriously hot, I’m just saying—” Jenny clarified, then groaned, burying her face in her hands.

“ _Obviously still seriously hot,”_ Rupert repeated, sounding rather pleased about this description.

“You know, I used to be way smoother?” Jenny informed him, raising her head to glare at him. “I used to have _game,_ Rupert, I used to be able to knock people’s socks off, and it was _not fair_ of you to just _play guitar like that.”_

“I’m simply utilizing my only advantage,” said Rupert mildly. “Not all of us can be stunningly beautiful, adorably tiny computer science teachers.”

Jenny bit her lip, smiling. “Go on,” she said.

“I do believe I have sung you a _multitude_ of love songs, Ms. Calendar,” said Rupert, “and now you’re asking for _more?”_

“Wait,” said Jenny. “ _Hold_ up. Those were for _me?”_

Rupert looked at her for a very long time. Then he said, “Just to clarify. I’ve been holding off on asking you out because I wasn’t sure if you were interested, and  _you_ were under the impression that I just _happened_ to be singing love songs while making direct eye contact with you?”

“You  _weren’t sure if I was interested?”_ said Jenny disbelievingly. “What did you _think_ I was going to open mic night for?”

“You said you liked coffee—”

At that point, the absurdity of the situation hit Jenny in full force. She burst into violent giggles, falling against Rupert’s shoulder, and she felt him begin to laugh as well. “ _God,_ we’re a pair!” she wheezed.

Rupert turned his head towards hers, eyes alight, and Jenny realized that she would _very_ much like to kiss him. But she kind of wanted to spend tonight _finally_ getting to know him, so instead she took his hands in hers, giving him a delighted, open-mouthed smile. “You wanna show me that Netflix period drama you were talking about?” she said. “I do actually know how to make popcorn.”

“I’d  _quite_ like that,” said Rupert, smiling warmly back at her.

* * *

 

“Hey, Mr. Giles?” said Jenny, poking her head into the library and doing her best to look innocently professional. Rupert, who had been conversing with Willow Rosenberg and Buffy Summers, brightened at the sight of her. “Just wanted to check—you’re gonna be doing that open mic night thing next Wednesday, right? As long as there aren’t any giant vampire-slaying bats?”

“I don’t know _why_ you were getting on my case last week about me blowing my cover, Giles,” said Buffy. “I think my  _giant Pegasus_ blew my cover.”

“ _Shh,_ ” said Willow.

“Ms. Calendar, I am definitely doing the open mic,” said Rupert, ignoring both Buffy and Willow with an impressive amount of dignity, “and I very much hope to see you there.”

The girls looked from Rupert to Jenny, then from Jenny to Rupert, then exchanged a wide-eyed, vaguely unnerved look. “Are they—” began Buffy.

“They can’t possibly be—” Willow agreed.

Jenny found herself very much enjoying this. “Also,” she said, “if you want to come over for Netflix and chill tonight, I would _love_ that.”

Rupert, who definitely didn’t know the connotations of _Netflix and chill,_ gave Jenny a large, delighted smile. Buffy and Willow now looked downright _horrified._ “Keep it in your _pants,_ Ms. Calendar!” said Buffy very loudly.

“See here, Buffy,” Rupert began reprovingly, “that is _no_ way to talk to a teacher—”

“Oh my god, he doesn’t know what it means,” said Buffy. “Giles, do you know what _Netflix and chill_ means?”

Now, Jenny thought, was probably a good time to make an exit. “See you tonight, I hope!” she called over her shoulder, right as a furiously blushing Willow was whispering an explanation to Rupert. As the library doors swung shut, she heard Rupert’s indignant and reproving, “ _Jenny!”_ but chose very cheerfully to pretend she hadn’t heard it.

* * *

 

(He did come over, anyway.)


End file.
